Paint The Sky With Stars
by Signs of Dusk
Summary: He may have been broken, but it was really she that was saved. AU
1. Innocence is gone

**Author's Note: Characters are likely to have moments of OOC throughout this. Just bear with it and hopefully you'll enjoy. I don't own the Hunger Games.**

Ch. 1

"Tell me, Peeta. How do you feel about going back to school after a year's absence?" Dr. Aurelius asked him, staring intently at the teenager sitting across from him, who in turn chose to keep his attention focused on the nearest window.

He stared out at the wilderness with detached interest, rubbing his jaw absently while he squinted at the grey morning. A vague curiosity pestered his mind once again as he contemplated the possibility of running off into those very woods and never looking back. Such an idea had occurred often enough through his time spent in therapy, but he felt it best not to share it. His fanciful imaginings would surely land him another prescription with some unpronounceable clinical name, something he wasn't too keen on acquiring. The couple he was already on were enough, thank you very much.

"Peeta?" prompted Dr. Aurelius, clearing his throat to bring the boy back from whatever thoughts he was entertaining himself with.

Peeta blinked owlishly, letting out a long sigh as he turned back to his therapist, leaning his chin further onto his cupped palm. "I'm sorry, what was the question again?"

"I asked for your feelings on having to go back to school after having been away for over a year," he answered patiently, staring evenly at his patient.

"Oh…" Peeta drawled, sitting up a little straighter. "Well, Doc, what's the answer you're looking for? Do you want me to give that scripted response where I tell you that I'm excited and just about bursting with joy at having to go back to school even though I'm not going to know anyone or do you want me to tell you the truth?"

"The truth. Always the truth."

"I fucking hate it," he answered plainly without hesitation. "If my parents had any sense, they'd homeschool me, or better yet just let me drop out. It's not like I have any dreams of doing anything else other than running the bakery when my dad retires. At seventeen, aren't I entitled to any say in the matter? I mean, I _am_ the one who has to go see a therapist for my problems. You'd think they'd take that into consideration."

"Your parents only want what's best for you—"

Peeta raised his hands up in a defensive gesture with an uneasy smile. "Hey, I'm just being honest with you. Doesn't mean I'm right, apparently…" His voice trailed off at the end as he glanced back to the window, drumming his fingers along his lips after he returned his chin to his palm.

Dr. Aurelius jotted something quickly upon his clipboard, saying as he did so, "All of this anxiety you feel right now is perfectly natural. It's never easy going to a new school with nobody there you know. But sometimes it's good to have a fresh start."

He eyed the psychiatrist momentarily with a dubious look, exhaling slowly through his nose.

"That doesn't mean it isn't going to suck…"

"I will grant you that," Dr. Aurelius relented. "But you can't keep hiding away forever and whether you realize it or not, you are indeed getting better. It would only do you well to return to school and make some friends. Who knows, you might actually be thankful for it in the long run."

Peeta snorted and left it at that.

Looking to the clock on the man's desk, he noticed the time and reluctantly got to his feet, hoisting his satchel up onto his shoulder with a quiet huff. It took everything in him to take those few steps towards the door, dreading the break in routine that going to school would have on his life. He had finally adjusted to his hectic schedule of therapy successions, and now all that careful security he had painstakingly taken the time to achieve was going to be shattered by having to actually return to society.

If he could have it his way, he'd run off into those woods and live off the land. Maybe get mauled by some bear or mountain lion or whatever the hell lived out there along the way—it could be just fucking deer for all he knew. He was willing to play it by ear.

When he reached the door, Peeta hesitated for a second, lingering there with a crippling lump of nervousness festering within the bowels of his soul. He licked his lips hastily as he asked, "What if I can't make any friends?"

"As long you're open and honest with others, you can do no wrong."

Peeta didn't know about that, but he might as well heed the man's advice. It wasn't like he had anything else planned. And really, what _else_ was there to lose? He'd already lost part of his body, a piece of his mind, and whatever bit of dignity that he hadn't been able to tack onto his ego. He could stand to have his heart trampled on by people who didn't give a damn about who he was or his story. Didn't mean he'd like it though.

With a doubting shake of his head he pushed passed the door and limped out of the building to where his father and older brother waited outside leaning against their new silver Cadillac, the sight still stirring a rush of anxiety even now, after so long. He glanced at it just briefly, pushing away his anxieties to take in his family's presence. It didn't take him much effort to put on a convincing smile for them that brushed aside the tentative caution they regarded him with as soon as they had noticed him approaching.

Neither of them called him out for it, which, if he were being honest with himself, was a bit discouraging.

Scratch that. It was so discouraging that he just wanted to rip his hair out and scream. But that wouldn't look good on his part. Nope. Not one bit.

Couldn't they just tell how he was feeling, know how false his smile was? Did they not know him at all? Maybe not, given his mental state and all that shit that happened a year ago. But he was trying to get better, honest to God, and didn't the doctor just mention of his inclining progress?

He did this to himself though, the fucking insane masochist that he is. It was one of the reasons why he wound up this way in the first place, why he eventually snapped. Maybe he should take the doctor's words to heart and just be straight with his family about how he really felt. No more of this smiling like nothing's wrong crap. Just being open and honest about how he really felt.

His father patted his shoulder, a gesture that he felt was particularly smothering with its wariness in spite of its simplicity, but he took it without so much a shrug. That alone went against what he had just told himself, how he had convinced himself to act, and that made him uneasy inside. He hid his discomfort by burying his hands deep into his pockets, fidgeting restlessly from foot to foot.

"So what did the doctor say?" his father asked, tone marred with concern. "He isn't having second thoughts about this, is he?"

"No Dad," Peeta replied with a hint of a nervous chuckle in his voice. "He's pretty much insistent that I go through with this. He thinks going to school and making a few friends will actually do me some good."

A smile of relief ghosted across the man's weary features, the corners of his eyes crinkling with such warmth that Peeta hadn't seen in quite some time. His relief was so great that he pulled Peeta into a suffocating embrace, enveloping him in his arms and holding him close.

"This is good…" he breathed, eyes misty. "You're good, Peeta. You're that much closer to getting better, son. I'm proud of yah."

Peeta pressed his mouth against his father's shoulder, biting on the fabric to hold back the words that he wanted to spew. That selfless part of him—the part that didn't want to point out the obvious with brutal honesty—was holding him back. He couldn't break it to such a hopeful man that, yeah he may be getting better, but his was a disease that couldn't be cured, only suppressed. And who knew how long even that would last. The medicines would only do so much.

He couldn't be honest with his father because, as ironic as it was, it was better that he lived in delusion than know the truth. It was better this way, for his father. For him . . . not so much.

Peeta pulled away as soon as it was suitable, smiling apprehensively at his father. He clenched and unclenched his hands in his pockets, growing more and more uncomfortable with the focus centered on him and the insinuation of his mental illness. His eyes moved to the car and he knew that he couldn't stand there a moment longer.

"Hey, um…" he began slowly, returning his attention to his family. "Would it be okay if I'd just, maybe, walk to school?"

His father looked like he wanted to protest, but his brother Bannock beat him to the punch.

"Peet, that's like five miles away from here," he pointed out. "You'll be late if you don't ride with us. Plus you got to remember your limitations, the weather being what it is and all."

Yes, the winter chill in the air would surely work against his favor, but Peeta didn't care. He wasn't about to force himself back into that vehicle again for the day. He'd rather die.

"Relax, I'll get there eventually. I just need some time to think." A dark thought tinged in paranoia inexplicably came to the forefront of his mind—he wondered briefly why the medicine had been able to erase it like it typically did—and he murmured in a quiet, accusing voice, "What? You don't think I'd actually go there? You think I'd skip school the moment the opportunity presented itself?"

Bannock's reply wasn't quick enough and Peeta was overwhelmed with the urge to defend himself, even if his brother's pause was merely a second too long.

"Look," he began, gripping his older sibling by the shoulders. "I know you have cause to be wary, I get that, I've been a little shit these past few months. And maybe then I would've skipped out on going to school; I still kind of feel that way now actually. But . . . I know how disappointed you'd guys be in me if I did, so I won't." A small smile quirked up the right side of his mouth, one filled with honesty, for he truly meant what he said. The pressure from before that had been building up eased away a little, as if this simple admission was enough to assuage his mental deficiencies. "See? I'm getting better! Everything's fine, really."

To further his point, Peeta began to jog steadily alongside the road, escaping whatever reply Bannock had planned to throw back at him. And yeah, he was regretting it after only the first half-mile, but it was bracing. It was invigorating. It reminded him that he was alive, as painful as that reminder may be on some days.

He was glad that neither of them made to chase him though. It meant, for once, they actually believed him.

* * *

Like any morning, Katniss was up before the sun.

With careful movements that came from practiced ease, she drew back the deer skin blanket and slid out of the cot she shared with her younger sister. The dredges of sleep still clouded her mind as she stumbled through the small room of their equally small house, nearly tripping over the piles of clothes littering the floor and the cramp furniture in her haze. She rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands, moving sluggishly over to the kitchen sink cluttered with dirtied dishes to splash some water onto her face.

Her sister Prim made some sort of vague grunt, as if to wake, before rolling onto her side, falling back asleep. Katniss smiled at the sounds of her sister's breaths evening out, grateful that she at least didn't have to wake at some obscene hour to ensure that they had something to eat for the day.

That brief glimpse of emotion was extinguished abruptly when her eyes shifted down the hall to the room where her mother resided. A fiery resentment that hadn't faded with time blazed up in her and it was all she could do not to storm around their small dwelling as she got dressed for the morning hunt. She was mindful of not slamming the rickety screen door shut behind her when she finally stepped out though, wishing to preserve whatever sleep her sister could still get before she had to wake for school.

Snagging the bow and quiver of arrows from off the porch step, Katniss strode purposively to the surrounding woods that seemed to stretch on endlessly behind her and some of the other families' homes. Hardly anyone was awake at such an unreasonable time, except for her uncle, who wasn't much of a reasonable man to begin with.

He sat in his old rocking chair that looked just about ready to collapse upon his front porch, a bottle of moonshine dangling precariously at the tips of his fingers. A daze sort of look was in his bloodshot grey eyes as he stared off listlessly at the horizon until he noticed her crossing his path.

"Out to catch Bambi with yer daddy's arrows again, sweetheart?" he hollered across the way, grinning a sneer at her that showed the small gap between his front teeth that they both seemed to have in common. The only thing, Katniss would insist, for she refused to make note of any of the other myriad of similarities that she and her uncle shared, knowing she wouldn't like what she'd find.

"Nice shiner you got yourself there," he added boisterously, to her grievance. "What'd you do, get in a fight with a turkey?" She tugged up the hood of her jacket, scowling at the man. Even when he was insufferable and drunk like this, he could still take note of the bruise that colored her right eye and cheek in ugly shades of purple and yellow. And here she had been hoping he wouldn't say a thing.

She did her best to ignore him, like she did any other morning, lightly pacing into the tree line to the only place she felt at ease with herself. The tension was immediately gone from her shoulders and for a split second she considered pulling back her hood—it wasn't like she had anything to hide when she was out here—when the familiar rustle of bracken to her right caught her attention.

She knew who it was before the person had made themselves known, a faint quirk ghosting her lips upon hearing the rough baritone of her hunting partner drifting back to her.

"Well, well, if it isn't everybody's friendly neighborhood Catnip."

"Shut it," she jokingly snapped, continuing on with him matching her stride.

"Oh, that's right, I must've forgotten," he muttered almost wistfully. "You aren't friendly with anyone, except Prim of course."

"Of course," she agreed with a solidary head nod.

The two lapsed into companionable silence as they went about their usual rounds, checking his snares and occasionally following a fresh trail in search of game. In the end, they were only able to fetch themselves a couple of squirrels and some quail. Given the fast approaching winter, they were fortunate with their small catch, for the pickings would only continue to thin as the snowy season progressed.

Katniss took the smallest squirrel and bird from their catch, knowing that Gale had more mouths to feed than she did. He tried to argue with her that she should at least take the squirrel that she shot herself instead, but she wouldn't hear anything of it. Yes, her own kill proved to be more plump than the one that he had shot, but she wasn't going to complain. She was just glad that they had caught anything at all today.

The last couple of days had been scarce in game, resulting in nights where hunger had gnawed at the walls of her stomach painfully. The only reassurance she had had during those few, troubling days was that Prim had at least gotten something to eat, as meager as it may have been. Not that her little sister would ever think to complain.

The pair took a brief break at the cliff face that they typically visited after they were through hunting for the morning as the sky grew to a lighter shade of grey. The two sat side by side on a fairly large rock, watching silently as the sun peaked over the hazy mountains in the distance. It was quiet between them—as it usually was—until Gale had the gall to poke the fresh bruise on her face with his index finger. She hissed when the dull ache throbbed like a second heartbeat at his touch.

He gave a low whistle, asking, "Does it hurt when I do this?" He poked her again.

"What do you think asshole?" she growled, swatting his hand away and shoving him back when he began to laugh.

The laughter tapered off quickly though as Gale grew pensive and serious. "Katniss . . ." The mere fact that he was pronouncing her name correctly gave tell that what he was about to say wasn't meant to be taken lightly. "I thought you gave that shit up?"

Katniss squirmed under his scrutinizing stare, his grey eyes a mirror of her own, nervously tugging the hood further forward, as if by fully concealing the blemish from his view that he would lose interest. But having known him for so long and so well, she knew there wasn't a fat chance of that happening.

"I needed the money. . ." she mumbled, avoiding his stern gaze and the turmoil that raged like thunder. "Besides, it was you who introduced it to me in the first place. Remember?"

"I know, and I shouldn't have," he sighed. "But it was only meant to be used as a last resort."

"Don't you think I know that?" she snapped angrily, hating his worried tone. He knew how rough life could get; she didn't need him to coddle her like she was some kid. Or worse: pity her. "It's not like I like doing this, lying to my sister and coming home like something the cat dragged in. Prim may be only thirteen, but she's more perceptive than she looks. Silly excuses aren't going to fool her for much longer."

"Then let me give you some of my pay—"

"No." She glared at him dangerously with narrowed eyes, not desiring to have _this _conversation again.

"Come on, Catnip. My family isn't so bad off like we used to be. My mom just got hired to work as maid in town, and Rory is even going around delivering the morning paper now, which means more money at home. I'm sure we could spare a few bucks for your family."

"We're not having this discussion again," she warned with an edge of annoyance in her scathing tone. "The answer is still no."

She got up and moved away, shouldering her quiver, bow, and hunting bag to dig a hand angrily into her back pocket, coming back with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. A nasty habit she had picked up from Gale that her sister insisted that she quit. She had tried, once, but the addictive pull of nicotine had been too much to withstand on top of all the stress that had been thrown her way these hard years.

Though she usually restrained herself from smoking in the woods, she just couldn't take Gale's concern _and _charity at the same time. There was only so much her pride could stand.

Gale followed a few steps back, quiet and pensive as they retraced their path back to their homes, the discussion done but surely not over. He was just as stubborn as her, and she knew that he wasn't about to let this go just because she had said no.

They went their separate ways temporarily as they broke through the tree line, not before Gale snagged the cigarette from out of her mouth to put it in his own, grinning at her with a hasty wink. She let him go without a word of complaint as the two went to their respective homes to take care of their kill and get their siblings ready for school.

In an hour Gale would return with his truck to take them all to school while on his way to work at the coal mines. Katniss may have envied that he no longer had to worry about school, but she did not envy the fact that in exchange he would have to work several feet underground in the cold and dank darkness of a mineshaft in order to make a living for his large family.

Katniss spent nearly a half-hour right outside the back of her home, skinning the squirrel and plucking the feathers off the quail, knowing that Prim didn't have the stomach for this kind of thing and wouldn't appreciate being woken up by the metallic smell of blood and stench of raw meat if she were to do this inside. She had learned the hard way when she had attempted it one time, years ago.

She removed the entrails and tossed some of it to the chained mutt that Prim had insisted they keep as a pet last month. She was so close to _accidently_ letting the creature run away though, because she couldn't spare to feed the mangy beast much and it definitely showed with its protruding bony frame. It would break Prim's heart if she was to do that, but she'd have to get over it. It was them or the dog, and Katniss chose them.

Once she was through with the bloody work, she packed the meat temporarily away in her hunting bag. Then, returning the bow and arrows to their place at her doorstep, she walked back inside, deposited the meat in the fridge, and woke Prim.

Her sister woke easily enough, but she clearly wasn't much of a morning person. For the first few minutes she didn't say a word, occasionally rubbing a clenched fist at her sleepy eyes as she put on some clean clothes. Once she was dressed though, she seemed to have awakened enough to give Katniss a greeting.

"Mornin' . . ." yawned Prim as she deposited herself in the old recliner that sat right outside the kitchen.

Katniss looked over her shoulder from her place at the stove—in the middle of cooking the last of the wild tubers she had found over the weekend for breakfast—and smiled.

"Morning, Little Duck." Katniss returned her attention to what she was doing, stirring around the chunks of chopped potatoes in the gritty cast-iron skillet.

"How's that bruise on your face?" her little sister asked, able to feel her eyes burning holes into her back. "Did you ice it again this morning?"

"Yeah. . ." she muttered absently. "But it's better now, it doesn't hurt as much."

Suddenly her sister was at her side, alert and attentive as she drew back the hood of Katniss's jacket and brushed aside some stray hairs to look more closely at the wound. It nearly unnerved Katniss how so much older Prim looked, especially in the eyes, whenever she got into this physician kind of zone. Even more proof that her baby sister wasn't going to be fooled forever.

A low hum rumbled from her throat as she inspected the bruise, asking, "You sure you got this from running into a tree branch?"

"I told you this last night. It was dark and me being one who always has to run instead of walk didn't think to look." Katniss insisted, hoping her sister would lay off it and accept the lie. When her sister continued to look dubious, Katniss attempted a different tactic. "This is almost done. Why don't you get the plates out? Then, when you're done with that, would you mind checking up on Mom?"

Prim nodded and went about her given tasks without another word.

Katniss was grateful that her sister knew when not to push her too far, understanding that if Katniss wanted to tell her something, she would. But the origins of the bruise, along with subsequent other wounds she had received in the past, was something that she didn't plan on ever disclosing to her little sister. The knowledge would only disappoint her.

When the plates were out, Katniss divided the food into three shares and took two of them down the hall to her mother's room. There she found Prim murmuring something softly into their mother's ear, though the woman gave no indication that she heard anything. She continued to stare off at the wall with a vacant look in her sad blue eyes that was almost infuriating to take in.

Before she could lose her temper Katniss handed the two plates off to Prim and curtly left the room in a silent storm. She returned to the kitchen and ate the small portion of breakfast she had set aside for herself, hoping the task would take away some of the edge to her prior aggravation. And it did, a little. By the time she was finished, she felt drained and a bit defeated.

Playing the role of matriarch was difficult, being still a minor and forced to take care of her younger sister and take on all the duties that their mother once handled before her mind left them to fend for themselves. But Katniss liked to think that she at least tried her best, given their already poor circumstances. Sure, she might not have been able to pay all the bills and some days they went with empty stomachs, but no one could deny her that without the love between the two sisters, social workers would've taken them away from this place and each other a long time ago.

Katniss lingered for some time hovering at the kitchen sink, unable to face her mother or Prim with her, when the honk of a car horn alerted her that it was time to go. She called for Prim and her sister came within moments, totting their school bags upon her small shoulders and carrying one of the plates.

"I didn't finish feeding her," she explained, handing over the dishware.

"It's fine," Katniss assured, depositing the plate and fork in the sink with the other dishes in need of cleaning. "Hazel will stop by like she usually does before going to work. She'll be fine alone for a few hours." It wasn't like she was going to do anything other than lay there in her bed in her own little world that evidently didn't include them.

Gale pounded the horn again, the drawn out sound conveying his annoyance and their need to make a move on. The two Everdeen sisters left their house, Prim hopping into the seat beside Gale's youngest siblings, Vick and Posy, while Katniss hoisted herself into the bed of the truck where Rory was situated. Ever since Posy started kindergarten that fall, the eldest Everdeen girl wouldn't dare wedge herself into the front with the others like she had done in the past; it was already cramp as it is.

The middle Hawthorne boy slapped the rear window three times consecutively, letting his brother know that they were good in the back. The rusty Ford truck stalled initially before jerking forward with a sudden start, pulling out of the yard and onto the dirt road that would take them to the highway.

As the truck picked up speed, both Katniss and Rory kept one arm secured over the sides and squinted at the receding dilapidation of their tightly-knit community in silence. Not that they hadn't often spoken to one another, it was just that the howling wind that whistled in their ears would've made it impossible to hear what the other was saying.

Katniss, to the best of her ability, watched their surroundings zip on by in a green blur. Trees stretched on continuously, lining the road on both sides with an endless sense of familiarity and monotony. The sight, as ordinary as it was, was comforting. She liked living out here, surrounded by nature, as opposed to in town like the general populace that went to her high school. It also gave her a since of privacy, concealing the broken family that she struggled so desperately to keep hidden. Only the people of the Seam, as they were typically called, needed to know that her mom was, for all intents and purposes, gone and that she was now the sole provider for her sister.

After roughly twenty minutes they made it to the outskirts of their sleepy town, passing a few stores just opening up for the day and the diner already filling with customers. Katniss looked to and fro, nothing quite capturing her interest.

It might've been because of this that the lone figure running along the road caught her attention more than it should have. Something was off about the way he ran. There seemed to be a subtle limp to his stride, one she was only able to spot from careful observation.

Their truck passed him quickly enough and Katniss was only able to make note that his blond hair curled at the ends. She wondered who he was, and why he was running supposedly towards school. All those who lived in town typically drove themselves or took the bus to school.

Just as quickly as he was there, he was gone, and she figured that would be the end of it.

But it wasn't.

* * *

**Author's Note: So…what'd yah think? Good? Bad? Meh? Let me know by kindly leaving a review (even if the review isn't kind itself).**

**The next chapter, along with the one for Burnt Toast, will be posted sometime in the beginning of March, as so I can write more chapters before then. **


	2. The day we met, Frozen I held my breath

Ch. 2

Like his brother had predicted, Peeta made it to school late. Not that he minded either way.

He staggered down the hall, out of breath and in desperate need of a shower. Maybe running five miles hadn't been his greatest idea, but at least he made it to school, albeit a half-an-hour late. It was such a shame really. Before the accident, back when he had been in shape, five miles would've been nothing. Now…well, he didn't like to think about it.

He stopped at the main office, told them who he was and received his schedule, instructed to go to his first period. The receptionist was a kind enough woman, if a bit exuberant in both her attitude and choice of clothing. He hadn't known they made skirt suits in such vibrant hot pink, especially in a backwater place such as this, but there was always a first for everything.

After following the bit of directions that the receptionist had given him, he was able to find the classroom he was meant to be in. Peeta did not enter right away, taking a moment to calm his nerves and fight the nervous rush of his heart as it pounded inside his chest. He berated himself for feeling this way.

It was ridiculous that he should feel so nervous. He'd like to think that, after all the shit he's been through in the past year alone, he'd have nerves of steel when it came to things like getting acclimated to a new school. Apparently he did not, if his racing heart was any proof on the matter.

"Get it together, Mellark," he mumbled under his breath, wrestling enough will power to actually open the door and enter the unpredictable world that was your typical senior English class.

The teacher, a willowy young woman that left Peeta with the feeling that he had seen her before paused mid-sentence and turned her head to look at him, eyes bursting with thrill at the sight of him.

"Oh!" she gasped, walking up to him with a kind smile and enthused eyes. The sudden shift in attention had the class groaning, as if the sporadic nature of their teacher's attention wasn't something new. "You must be the new student. Peter Mellark, right?"

He hated when people mistaken his name like that, assuming that _that _was how it was supposed to be pronounced. He wished. People often thought they were so clever whenever they teased him about his name sounding exactly like the word 'pita' and didn't seem to understand that he'd heard all of the corny bread jokes by third grade.

"Uh…actually it's Pee-_ta_ Mellark, not Pe-_ter."_

There were a few sniggers at the correction, something that the teacher either ignored or didn't notice. He had a sinking feeling that it was the latter.

"Hello, Peeta not Peter," the woman flashed him a gentle smile that made it exceedingly difficult to stay annoyed at. "I'm Annie Cresta, but that's Miss Cresta to you."

He nodded, keeping his head down as he looked to the class in search of an open seat. He spotted one in the back that looked good enough, so nervously he shuffled his way over, feeling the burn of stares as he passed through the judgment of a dozen curious seniors. Heat raced up the back of his neck and he hoped, prayed, that his skin wasn't turning red in embarrassment from all of the attention he was receiving.

Only one person had made a point of not looking at him. It was a girl, who paid him no interest as he moved to the empty seat next to her. Her gaze was drawn to the window, chin resting on her cupped palm as she stared at the passing clouds. A mysterious purple bruise curled under her right eye onto her cheek, leaving Peeta to wonder where she had gotten it. He wondered what she was thinking about. He wondered if she knew he was approaching.

Peeta shuffled quickly into his desired seat, sinking into it with an abundance of relief as everyone turned to look back at Miss Cresta. The lesson resumed—the analysis of some poem he'd never heard of—and Peeta listened with half-an-ear as he pulled out a notebook and pen, struggling to follow what was going on.

He looked to his right. The blond jock sitting there merely chewed on his gum lazily, fiddling with his pencil as he stared at Miss Cresta. Most likely staring at her ass as she turned to write something on the white board if the small curl of a smile was any proof on the matter. Peeta was certain this guy wouldn't be any help in telling him what was going on. Evidently, his dick was too busy doing the thinking for him, paying more attention to the teacher than the lesson.

He looked to his left. The girl with the bruise continued to stare out of the window, oblivious to his curious stare. She didn't look to be any better help than dick-brain, but it was better than the alternative.

"Hey…" he muttered softly. She showed no signs of having heard him, which was a bit frustrating. They were sitting like, what, two feet apart? "Hey, you…" he muttered a little louder, hoping that would do the trick.

It didn't.

Peeta couldn't aptly rationalized why he did what he did next, other than blaming it on the impulsive irritably that the medicines he took were only able to partially smother—which seemed like a pathetic copout as far he was concerned, because really, he was far past the point of pinning all of his behavioral deficiencies on his illness—but he did it, and there was no taking it back.

He kicked her shin before he could stop himself. Granted, a little harder than he should have, but it surely got her to turn her gaze away from the window and onto him.

Judging from the smoldering fire that raged like a tempest in her storm grey eyes, she wasn't too thrilled that she had been kicked. Who would be? But the way she looked at him, mouth set in a scowl and nostrils flaring in anger, made it seem like it took every ounce of self-control not to launch at him in a fit of rage. He kind of wished she would, just to see what would happen. The thought of it was _hot_.

"What do you want, douchebag?" she growled lowly, not caring who he was or why he had singled her out of all people.

Peeta stared at her, at a momentary loss of words. A strange feeling festered up in him the longer he went without saying anything.

Dare he say he was in love? Or was it merely arousal, because honestly, he didn't know how to differentiate between the two.

He'd like to think of himself as some sort of romantic, and just the word 'arouse' seemed too vulgar of a term to describe this funny feeling he felt inside. Maybe calling it love would be a bit of a stretch, he'll admit that much, but it was definitely something close to it.

What did he know of love anyway?

He must've zoned out for quite a bit of time, for the girl with the bruise rolled her eyes disdainfully as she made to turn back to the window, muttering something under her breath. Probably cussing him out for distracting her from whatever she had been thinking about.

"Wait!" he hissed, voice cracking in his desperation. He wanted to bang his head on the desk for having sounded like he was thirteen again, when his voice had begun to change.

The girl looked to him with less anger and more annoyance this time, arching one dark eyebrow at him in question.

"I, uh, was wondering if you could tell me what it was y'all were learning." He tried giving her that shy boy smile he used to give people back before the accident whenever he was trying to get people to like him, to trust him, but she appeared unimpressed. Indifferent, really. It was amazing.

Her eyes shifted quickly to the paper that rested upon her desk, then moved back to him. "Here," she replied in a clipped tone as she handed him the sheet. "Just look off of this."

She didn't elaborate any further, instead turning back to the window with a neutral expression masking her face.

Peeta studied her for a few seconds longer before looking to the piece of paper she had given him. On it was the poem that Miss Cresta was going over, one by Emily Dickinson. He read the title and nearly choked, his face quickly draining of color.

_Death Sets A Thing Of Significant_

His eyes closed as he struggled to take in a few calming breaths, trying to get himself to relax. It was just a stupid poem written by some dead chick. And yeah, it had the word 'death' in the title. Didn't mean that that's what it was actually about. Writers had an uncanny way of misleading the audience with their titles sometimes.

Peeta forced himself to open his eyes and scan the poem. Each line did not give much reassurance to his initial assumptions.

Yep, definitely a poem about death.

Peeta ran anxious hands through his hair, struggling to remain focused on the poem and the teacher's words. It was difficult. He tried going through the exercises that he had learned early on in his therapy, about ways of coping after the accident. But his mind, addled by his illness that the medicines couldn't fully curb—or did he simply forget to take something this morning? He had too many pill bottles, too many opportunities of messing up. Was he getting this worked up because he forgot to take something?

He couldn't remember the morning all that much, other than going to Dr. Aurelius for his morning session.

Oh god, what if he forgot to take any of his medicine? He was going to lose it, could feel it creeping up on him.

"Wasn't my fault," he whispered absently, repeating the phrase endlessly in a struggle to keep himself calm. His face fell into his hands, fingers gripping his scalp as he bounced his good leg rapidly.

This had been a bad idea. Going to school had been such a fucking bad idea and it was so goddamn pathetic that he was working himself up over a damn poem and whether or not he took all of his medicine this morning. It was possible that he forgot, given that he wasn't much of a morning person and wasn't always agreeable. He could've forgotten, or Bannock could've forgotten to check that he did. Bannock could've done it on purpose, because he wanted him to fail, to get locked up for good. He hated him, Peeta could tell. He blamed him for what happened. Everyone did.

His chest grew tight and it was getting increasingly difficult to breathe. Sweat slicked his palms and dampened the ends of his hair. His vision got dimmer and dimmer, blackening out at the edges. It felt like time was slowing down as everything began to spin. It felt like he was dying all over again.

"Not my fault, not my fault, not my—"

He nearly screamed when he felt a hand rest between his shoulder blades, fearful eyes looking upon the concerned face of Miss Cresta as she gazed at him with such gentle green eyes.

"Class is finished for the day, Peeta." Her words snapped him from his ramblings, pushing back some of the panic that had almost eclipsed him.

Peeta surveyed the room and found it empty. The bell must've rang and he, in the midst of his panic attack, must've missed it. He felt stupid; he wouldn't blame her if she thought he was.

"Oh." He quickly collected his things, methodically placing them in their proper places and returning them to his bag. He was about to hurry away when the teacher placed a stilling hand on his arm, bringing him momentary pause.

"I've seen you a couple of times, with Dr. Aurelius," she said with a look of sad understanding in her eyes. "I know it can be a bit stressful, picking up the pieces and starting all over again. So…if you ever want to talk or need help, I'm here."

He wanted nothing more to reject the offer, to shout and holler and scream accusingly at her that she didn't have a fucking clue as to what kind of shit went on inside his head, but the look on her face and in her eyes stopped him. She wasn't like all the others with their false understanding who didn't know what it was like to be afraid of their own mind. She did know.

Now he remembered why she looked familiar. He had seen her a few times leaving Dr. Aurelius's office at the start of his therapy.

She hadn't been there lately, months actually. She must've gotten better.

And, as childish as it was, he didn't think that was very fair.

"I'll try to keep that in mind, Miss Cresta." Peeta finally replied as he moved to the door. "Have a nice day."

She wished him the same, but he had a rising suspicion that that wouldn't be the case.

* * *

Peeta drifted through his classes in a bit of a daze, getting more and more distracted as the day went on. Then lunch came around.

As soon as he had walked into the crowded cafeteria, Peeta lost his appetite. There was so many…_people_ in one spot, all loud and annoying. Plus, there was that dreadful realization that he had nowhere to sit, forced to stand awkwardly like some frightened freshman on the first day of school.

Loitering at the entrance of the cafeteria with people bumping passed him that muttered annoyed driven insults over their shoulders, the young man scanned the sea of clustered social groups and spotted a familiar face sitting at the outer fringes of it all.

Peeta unthinkingly walked up to the girl with the bruise from English—he still didn't know her name, but that was just a formality he was willing to overlook in favor of not looking like a total dork. He approached the girl, who oddly enough wasn't sitting alone. A blonde-haired girl with thick framed glasses sat across from her at the table, chewing slowly on her sandwich as she leafed through the pages of some textbook, totally engrossed by it rather than her companion, who sat just as silently as she did.

He wondered if the two were even friends. Judging by the way that they weren't even looking at each other, he would have to assume that they weren't.

How wonderful…they could all be social rejects together.

"Um, excuse me," Peeta cleared his throat, garnering the attention of the girl with the bruise. She gave one look at him and instantly scowled, recognizing him for who he was—the douchebag that had kicked her.

"What?" she snapped with obvious air of impatience, wanting nothing more than for him to go away and leave her alone.

"Do either of you mind if I sit here?" he asked.

"Yes," she clipped out, earning the disapproving _tut_ from her table companion.

"Don't mind her," the blonde girl assured, eyes still clued to her textbook as she flipped to the next page. "Kat's not used to strangers. But I can assure you that her bark is worse than her bite."

"Madge!"

The blonde—Madge, it would seem that her name was—finally looked up from her book, shooting her friend a dry look that showed she was unfazed by the other girls severe glare. Madge then shook her head ruefully, her ponytail swinging with the motions of her head, and returned her attention to her book with a faintly amused smile on her face. "Have a seat, kid I don't know."

"Thanks…" he muttered as he took a seat, glancing fervently between the two and at a lost as to what he should do.

Should he strike up a conversation? The two girls were so engrossed in their own little worlds that it was probably for the best that he remained silent. Madge clearly was too busy with her book and the other girl, Kat—was that short for Katherine or was that actually her name?—was too busy pretending that he didn't exist.

That only made him want to talk to her more.

"So…" Madge suddenly drawled, eyes jumping back and forth as she continued to read. "What's your name, new kid?"

"Peeta Mellark."

Madge couldn't keep herself from snorting a laugh, glancing up at him with a small smirk. "You mean like the bread?"

Peeta sighed. He should've known that was coming. "Yeah," he wearily answered. "Like the bread."'

"Well Wonder Bread, my name's Madge Undersee and sourpuss over there is my friend Katniss Everdeen. Say hello, Katniss."

"Hey…" she muttered with an evident lack of enthusiasm, slouching further in her seat as she nestled her chin upon her palms and observed the crowd out of boredom.

He glanced between them, wondering how they could possibly be friends. They acted more like strangers who had nowhere else to sit than close friends. But there was a quiet understanding that Madge conveyed with her quips, an understanding that could only come from years of accumulating. If it had been _him_ who had talked to Katniss in such a manner, he was pretty much certain that he'd be dead because she would've murdered him.

Everyone at the table fell silent, left to their own devises. As Peeta sat there, he wished that he still possessed amiable people skills. At least then he would've been able to fit in quicker than he was at the moment. Right now all he could think about was how awkward and out of place he felt sitting at the table of two girls that knew each other well enough to not have to converse with one another like typical friends did.

Maybe he should ask something, to break the ice a little more.

"How'd you get that bruise, Katniss?" he asked without much forethought.

"She said she ran into a tree," Madge supplied. Her next words were clearly directed the girl in question. "But I believe that's a big can of bullshit."

"Let it go, Madge," Katniss growled, easily becoming frustrated.

"Did you want your paper from Miss Cresta back?"

"No."

"What kind of name is Katniss?"

"What kind of name is Peeta, bread boy?" she retorted, turning her eyes to look into his. There was a wrinkle of irritation creasing on her brow. He thought it looked kind of cute.

"My family owns a bakery. They thought it would be funny if I was named after bread, my brothers too. There's Bannock and…" he trailed off, still having some difficultly uttering his name without losing it. He had to swallow before he was able to continue. "…and Rye. Now it's your turn."

Katniss soon showed signs of discomfort, breaking eye contact to look back at the other students while she fiddled inanely with the end of her braid. "It means nothing." Her reaction said otherwise.

"I don't believe that." Peeta stated plainly.

She rolled her eyes and sighed, "Of course you don't…"

"Everything in this world has a meaning, whether it matters to one person or not. It's what gives things their significance. Just because you don't like your name doesn't mean that your parents didn't and that it didn't mean anything to them."

"I didn't say that," Katniss replied. "It means nothing because it's none of your business. Now quit taking my words out of context!"

"I can only assume that you don't like your name because of your refusal to answer my question. Perhaps it means something silly or embarrassing that you don't want to say out loud, much less to a stranger like me. Though honestly, what could be worse than having a name that sounds like the name of a pocket bread?"

"Thanks, Madge!" Katniss interjected while Peeta was in the middle of his tirade. "Thanks for letting this weirdo sit at our table."

"Hey, I like Wonder Bread, especially when he gets you so worked up." Madge gave her friend a smile of saccharine, earning a dark glower in return. Then the blonde girl directed her attention back to Peeta, her brow furrowing in a questioning manner. "Aren't you going to get food?

"I'm not hungry," he stated matter-of-factly, his response somehow unsettling her.

"Don't tell me you're like Kat, who says she's not hungry just because she doesn't have the money to buy school lunch or didn't pack herself a homemade lunch."

Peeta shot a questioning look to Katniss, who adamantly refused to make eye-contact or even defend herself. Probably because there was a ring of truth in the blonde's claim?

"Well…if that's the case, Katniss, I'd be more than happy to—"

She raised one hand in a gesture of silence and said, "Stop right there, bread boy. I don't need your freaking charity, so save your breath."

"You might as well," Madge conceded with a disparaging nod. "Trust me, I've tried."

He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. "That's…that's…_stupid_!"

Both Madge and Katniss shot him wide-eyed looks, surprised by his obstinate yet crude statement.

Peeta got to his feet suddenly, making a point of staring Katniss down as he began walking away from the table. She glared right back at him, not sure where he was going with this but sensing that it was something that she wouldn't like. Their staring contest broke when he moved too far away, leaving Katniss to glare at his back as he made it to the end of the lunch line.

"He's wasting his time…" Madge pointed out as she returned to her textbook.

"What? What's he doing?" demanded Katniss, naïve to the motives of other people, especially those she didn't know.

Madge didn't bother wasting her breath. Her best friend was bound to find out soon enough.

It took almost ten minutes for Peeta to return to the table, bearing a tray with a ham and cheese wrap, fruit cup, and bottle of water. He planted the tray in front of Katniss, sinking back down into his seat with his jaw locked in adamant determination.

Katniss pushed the tray away from her. "I'm not eating this," she declared stubbornly, eyes narrowing to slits as she glared at Peeta.

His eyes narrowed in turn. "Yeah, well neither am I."

"Then why the hell did you buy it?!"

"For you, obviously." He pushed the tray back to her.

"Oh, Jesus…" Madge sighed, resting her forehead upon her palm in show of exasperation.

"I don't want it!" Katniss yelled, shoving the tray forcefully away. "I didn't ask for your charity, Pe-_ter_!"

Peeta stiffened in his seat, frustratingly gnashing his teeth together in hopes of remaining calm. But how could he when she just…mispronounced his name on purpose? It was only a minor thing, and maybe he was overreacting at the honestly insignificant jab at his name, but he just couldn't stand it. Why did she have to be so fucking stubborn?!

The boy got to his feet and collected his bag, shouldering it as he said, "Fine. Do whatever the hell you want, _Cat-piss_." He turned his attention to Madge, who sat there with her hand now clamped over her mouth, face reddening in her attempt not to laugh. "It was nice meeting you, Madge."

And with that, he left.

The two girls watched him go, the blonde finally unable to help herself. She burst out laughing.

"That was awesome!" she wheezed out between pockets of laughter. "That definitely tops the Catnip mix-up you had with Gale."

"Shut up, you're not helping." Katniss muttered as she watched Peeta disappear to who knows where.

When Madge's laughter began to taper off she remarked pointedly, "In all seriousness though, you probably could've been, oh, I don't know, less of a child while you were handling that."

"Hey!" she protested, snapping her gaze over to her friend. "He's the one who started it!"

"Actually, if I remember correctly, I believe it was you who said you weren't eating the food he bought you, and with no good reason to boot. And no, pride does not count." Katniss promptly closed her mouth, hunching her shoulders forward slightly in defeat with a frown.

"You know, Katniss, it wouldn't hurt to let people help you once in a while, to let them in."

"I refuse to be indebted to some asshole who thinks he can do whatever he wants."

"Yeah, but that's not the point. The point is that sometimes people aren't in it for self-gain. Sometimes they just want to help."

Katniss briefly mulled over her friend's words. As much as she'd like to believe her, she had seen the cruelties of man and experienced the harshness of life. The world wasn't a pretty place, and people weren't merely kind just to be so. There was always something in it for them, and she wasn't about to delude herself into thinking otherwise.

"I just can't afford to think that way," she admitted, taking ahold of the tray and dumping its contents into the nearest trash.

* * *

**Author's Note: Guys, let me just say, you're all awesome. Thank you for the reviews, favorites, and alerts. It makes me feel bad how late I posted the chapter, seeing as how I've spent a week doing almost absolutely nothing, a week that could've been spent writing. Just goes to show how much of a procrastinator I am.**

**I hope you liked this—if you didn't, well, leave behind a review telling me so. I'll try to have the next chapter up as soon as possible~**

**On a side note, I have nothing against Emily Dickinson. I actually like a few of her poems and have a great amount of respect for her, contrary to what the tone may imply when she is called 'some chick'.**


End file.
